Falling
by Amiyrasmom
Summary: John's POV. Falling in love with his best friend was easy telling him was a nightmare
1. The Realization

**Disclaimer: So now I'm home. I can work now and make some money. That's a good thing. Cuz maybe I'll have to pay Eros when I find him. I haven't yet so Lestrade and Sherlock and company are not mine and I make no money from these stories.**

**A/N: Yes, I am going through all of my stories and revising them. They're basic content won't change and the endings will stay the same for those that are case fics. I am adding more detail and that's about it…I think. Sometimes my characters are a bit unpredictable. Let me know what you think.**

**The Realization**

John Hamish Watson would later decide that falling in love with his best friend was easy. More than likely it was the easiest thing he'd ever done, in fact. He had simply looked up at his best friend one evening as the other man had glared up at the ceiling in his "thinking pose". Sherlock's blue-gray eyes caught the light from John's lamp making them seem silver and his dark hair had seemed to glow nearly blue. Suddenly as he was halfway between a fond chuckled and a head shake his brain said "Oh. Right. He's absolutely beautiful and I am in love with him."

Half of a second was given over to the inevitable panic attack and then his brain continued with "It's all fine." And just like that he was calm again. Calm and in control of himself and the knowledge of his own feelings.

It was almost funny how anticlimactic the realization was, John thought. It wasn't a realization that was of earth shattering importance to anyone including himself. His heart didn't stop nor did his breathing after that first half a second. It was almost as though the feeling had always been there just waiting for him to realize it and recognize it for what it was. Which only made sense to him when he thought about it. He'd never considered himself anything but straight but now he realized that labels were a thing of the past and if pressed he'd have to consider himself Sherlocksexual rather than homosexual or heterosexual or even bisexual. Labeling himself was futile because Sherlock would always be the only person on the planet to ever hold his heart again.

Nothing changed in that moment of realized knowledge, except that John gave himself permission to acknowledge that Sherlock was the center of his universe. However that really wasn't a hard acknowledgement to make. Sherlock had been the center of John's universe almost from the moment he'd handed Sherlock his phone in the lab all those months ago. Now John could just actively know it instead of that thought simmering silently in the back of his mind. It was a relief actually to know he loved Sherlock; it explained so much about his reactions to his flatmate.

Love was a funny emotion, John decided. In the books and movies it consumed a person, love and the person the character had fallen in love with became all the character thought or cared about. The feelings of so called love ate away at the person in love until they were sick with it. In reality as opposed to the books and movies love was simply there, like air or knowing how to count. It didn't change John's personality. Even after he realized that he was in love with Sherlock and wanted to spend the rest of his life with the other man he still yelled at him for putting the heads in the fridge next to their food and the experiments that caused damage to the flat and still told Sherlock off when he was rude, which seemed to be happening less but still happened more than was socially acceptable. In essence nothing changed in John's life and yet everything did. Everything became just that bit more intense and beautiful.

A few days after that moment in the parlor John decided that the best course of action for him to take regarding his newly discovered feelings would be to tell Sherlock how he felt. Sherlock was unpredictable at the best of times so it was probably the best idea was that John would have some control over the situation. The genius Consulting Detective would eventually deduce his change of heart and if Sherlock figured it out himself then there was no telling how he'd react. There was no telling how he'd react anyway but at least if he went cold and silent then John would know why.

John would have to tell him and let him know that nothing needed to change. Best friends suited John just as well as lovers. John didn't need his feelings returned. He was perfectly happy with the way things were. That was what he would tell Sherlock when he confessed his love. Then Sherlock wouldn't feel pressured to return his feelings and he wouldn't leave or force John to move out.

All right so maybe he wasn't _perfectly_ happy with the way things were now, but Sherlock didn't need to know that. John did want to be able to show Sherlock how much he was loved but it wasn't essential, not like Sherlock's mere presence in his life. He needed Sherlock to be, that was all. He could live with just being Sherlock's friend as long as he could still see the other man. So no, he didn't need to have Sherlock love him, he only needed Sherlock to never leave his life. Not to say that he wouldn't love it if Sherlock did return his feelings. That would be the best end to the situation but he wasn't going to hold out hope for it. It was too ludicrous.

Sherlock needed to know all of this before he deduced it for himself and became angry, confused or fearful. Any of those three emotions that his friend claimed not to have would lead to disaster for them both. Sherlock would leave and John would never be able to find him. Mycroft may even become involved and then everything John had worked for would collapse. Mycroft would never allow his brother to be harmed, physically or emotionally and so he would hide Sherlock from John and probably have John harmed or killed.

Yes, falling in love with his best friend was easy; telling him in the right way, at the right time and in the right place on the other hand, was a nightmare of epic proportions.


	2. Angelo's

**Disclaimer: Still not mine. Sorry.**

**A/N: Yay, chapter two of the Sunday Blitz. Are we having fun yet?**

**Angelo's**

The first time he tried to tell Sherlock he loved him they were at Angelo's. It was after all, their place. They'd had their first meal together at Angelo's, well John had eaten and Sherlock had watched him but that was how it normally went. Sherlock never ate when he was on a case but he liked to watch as John ate. And after a case Angelo's was the best bet to get some food into Sherlock's system. Angelo seemed to instinctively know Sherlock's favorite foods and he made them with a flair that left the world's only consulting detective ravenous.

John had never brought any of the girls he'd dated to Angelo's. It had never felt right to him and he knew that bringing any woman into Angelo's would cast a pall over their date. It didn't matter that the food was amazing and the wait staff excellent. Angelo's was his and Sherlock's place. Not to mention that Angelo would probably call Sherlock and then he'd come and deduce John's date and she'd run off crying, it had happened before. The restaurant would be a good spot to confess his feelings, if a bit sentimental, John decided as they walked in. Sherlock wasn't big on sentiment but maybe he'd appreciate John's efforts anyway.

Billy had seated them at their usual table by the window with his usual good humour and a smile for them both and they'd both ordered dinner, for once. John hadn't even had to force Sherlock to order something this time. John grinned at Sherlock in amusement and exhilaration. They'd just finished a rather simple case and they were both high on the adrenaline of chasing a criminal through the nighttime London streets.

Together they were laughing over the look on Anderson's face at the crime scene they'd just left. He'd been rather put out when John had pointed out a clue he'd missed. Sherlock had been awed at his soldier and had complimented him in front of Anderson while insulting the forensics technician in the same breath. Really though, a knife stabbing looked completely different from a sharpened pipe stabbing. Any first year med student knew that.

Sherlock's smile was as open and uninhibited here as it had been delighted at the scene. That smile was one of the one's only John ever saw.

Sherlock had many different smiles. There were the ones for the public, those were the polite ones that John forced on him. Soft commiserating smiles for witnesses, that were as faked as the public, polite ones. Smiles for Lestrade, not quite as faked but still guarded. Sherlock respected Lestrade and sometimes even felt something like affection for him but he was still an authority figure and not to be completely trusted with things Sherlock would rather keep private. Smiles for the New Scotland Yard teams, which were always predatory and sardonic. Smiles for Mrs. Hudson, soft and oft times confused that she truly liked him. No smiles for Mycroft, Sherlock would never grace his brother with anything resembling a smile unless it was a smile of a shark before it ate you. But the smiles for John when it was just the two of them were open and usually delighted. John had catalogued every single one and he liked the ones aimed at him the best.

Like the one Sherlock was giving him now. The light from the candle Angelo always put on the table to make things more romantic was doing beautiful things to Sherlock's grayish eyes. The blue of them sparked and lit up with an inner fire. John never wanted that expression to leave Sherlock's face. It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

In a moment of quiet, their laughter silenced for that one moment, John was caught in those bluish-gray eyes. He was overcome by the feeling rising in his chest and he knew if he didn't say the words they would choke him. It was time. Time to let the chips fall where they would. Time to find out what would happen when he told Sherlock how he felt. No matter what happened in the next five minutes at least he would know that he wasn't a coward. Sherlock would see that John's feelings didn't have to change anything between them and they could go on working and living together for eternity. That was all John wanted…well, he wanted more but being with Sherlock for the rest of his life was all he needed from the other man.

"Sherlock?" Was his voice really as shaky as he thought it was? God, he hoped not. He closed his eyes in a long blink and prayed Sherlock hadn't deduced everything already. His eyes reopened and he trained his hazel gaze on the man sitting on the other side of the table.

Those laser-like bluish grey eyes focused on him and he was drowning in their depths again. "Yes, John." Sherlock's eyes still shined with mirth but there was something else behind the mirth. Something John wasn't sure he could identify. He wasn't even sure he wanted to identify it. Maybe Sherlock already knew of his love and was acting as though he didn't to spare John the shame and pain of rejection. Not that Sherlock would particularly care if he hurt John…would he? This had to be the worst pitfall of falling in love with a sociopath.

He swallowed thickly, his heart suddenly beating way to fast to be healthy. "I…" he stumbled over his words. What if Sherlock already knew? "I just wanted to say…" He stopped again. Could he take a complete rejection of his feelings? No, it would destroy him. "I wanted to tell you that what you did back there, that was amazing." John was so disappointed in himself. Where had all his bravery gone? He winced in his head. Sherlock would surely reject him now, if he ever got up the courage to try again, that is.

He looked at his flatmate and best friend again only just realizing that he'd looked down at his half-empty plate while he spoken. Sherlock was staring straight at him and was he seeing things? He blinked. Had Sherlock just looked disappointed? No, it couldn't be. Sherlock didn't know. Not yet. He couldn't know. He would though. John just needed to get the timing right.


	3. The Flat

**Disclaimer: Believe me if I owned Sherlock and co. you would not be reading this. I would be far too busy doing other things with them to write.**

The Flat

The next time John tried to confess was over tea in the flat. Sherlock was pacing and talking a thousand miles an hour. His dressing gown flapping in the wind of his pacing and his voice so fast and excited it was nearly unintelligible.

John felt the smile creeping up his cheeks. The display was just so utterly Sherlock.

"John! Are you even listening to me?" Sherlock demanded.

John started and then grinned. "Nope. Can't understand a thing you're saying when you talk so fast, Sherlock."

Sherlock scowled. "I was saying that it has to be the brother because the victim wasn't married, according to her neighbors she had no boyfriend and most thought she was a lesbian and yet there was men's cologne in her bathroom and…" And he was off again, pacing and rattling off deductions at the speed of sound.

John chuckled under his breath and saluted Sherlock with his tea mug behind the other man's back. Suddenly the feeling of his love for this man was nearly suffocating. He took a deep breath know that now was the time. But he couldn't even bring Sherlock's name to his lips.

Anger at his own cowardice crushed his heart but Sherlock didn't notice. Good, John would find a way to tell Sherlock that he loved him if it killed him.

A/N: Not British. If you see any mistakes or typos let me know. Heck, even if you don't I'd love to hear your thoughts.


	4. The Cab

The Cab

The third time John tried was in the quiet cocoon of a cab on the way to a crime scene. He could do it this time. He just wouldn't look at Sherlock. Yes that would work. Without those mind reading eyes he could spit the words out. He hoped. "Sherlock?" His voice filled the quietness of the cab and nearly deafened him.

"Yes, John." Sherlock's voice on the other hand, was quiet and warm. That deep, rich baritone that just seemed to crawl under John's skin and into his heart.

"I…" Suddenly the cab was too quiet. Too stifling. John swallowed and looked out into the London night. Do not look at Sherlock. He couldn't do this if he saw those gray eyes dissecting him. "I…um…"

"Yes, John." He felt Sherlock turn to look at him. Heard the rustle of cloth. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the rainy London night. Not and be able to say what he needed to say.

His courage broke and he sighed, disgusted with himself again. "Where are we going again?"

Did Sherlock just sigh? Only because he had to repeat himself, probably. "Westminster Abbey, John." John heard the rustle of cloth again as Sherlock turned away.

"Oh, right." John nodded and would have given himself a good slap if he was alone. What was wrong with him? It shouldn't be this hard. Next time, he'd do it right. Next time he'd tell Sherlock.


	5. The Surgery

The Surgery

The fourth time John worked up the courage to tell Sherlock, the other man wasn't even present.

John was sitting in his office at the surgery. There was a lull between patients. He sat behind his desk holding his phone, debating. This time he was prepared. This time he could tell the other man, his best friend that he loved him.

Sherlock wasn't there with his dressing gown or his coat or his cheekbones or his lips or those damn eyes that saw everything. There was nothing to stop him this time. His fingers trembled on the keys, but he smiled, knowing that he could say what he needed to say. Sherlock preferred to text anyway.

He nearly dropped the stupid phone when it beeped in his hand. Why? He nearly moaned aloud. Why did Sherlock have to choose now to text him? He was so close.

_TEXT from: Sherlock_

_To: John_

_Yes, John. We're out of milk._

_-SH_

Figures. John rubbed the bridge of his nose. Of all the bloody timing.

_TEXT from: John_

_To: Sherlock_

_I'll pick some up on my way home. Anything else?_

John tossed the phone onto his desk, rested his elbows beside it, dropped his head into his hands and groaned. Why couldn't he just tell him?


	6. The Crime Scene

The Crime Scene

The fifth time they were at a crime scene and Sherlock was berating Anderson, again. John chuckled under his breath at some of Sherlock's insults and wondered when he'd begun to find them funny.

"Really, Anderson, how could you miss a neon green sweater in a closet full of browns and blues? Every time I see you your idiocy amazes me more than the last time. Seriously were you last in your forensics class? A colorblind child could have picked that up."

"Sherlock," John said while Anderson spluttered in the background. Not a question this time, good. That was progress at least.

"Yes, John." Sherlock nodded, without taking his eyes off the fuming forensics technician. "Shut up, Anderson. You're dragging even John's intelligence down and that's hard to do."

Well, that stung. The words he'd wanted to say dried up in his throat. That was just so epically exactly how his life went. Sherlock wouldn't, couldn't love an idiot. And John was nothing to Sherlock if he wasn't an idiot.

Well, that ended that idea. John could never tell Sherlock that he was in love with him now. Sherlock wouldn't ever be able to accept that love. John snapped his mouth shut, closed his eyes for a moment and fought back the despair engulfing him. It wasn't fair.

"John?" Sherlock asked. Was that hesitance in his voice?

"Sorry, Sherlock, I forgot what I was going to say," John prayed to every deity he'd ever heard of that Sherlock would be too distracted by the crime scene and Anderson's continuing complaints to see that he was lying.

He got lucky. Sherlock only shook his head and smiled indulgently before turning his ire back to Anderson. "See what you've done, Anderson? Bravo!"

John tuned them out and let his heart shatter in the peace of his own mind.

A/N: I know, I'm an evil horrible person. However, I'm a proponent of the happy ending so...yeah. Everything will be fixed.


	7. The Chase

The Chase

The first time John finally allowed the words to pass his lips they were both out of breath from chasing a killer halfway across London and John didn't even know he'd said it until later.

John leaned his back against the alley wall and stared as Sherlock calmly sat on the suspect and texted Lestrade to come pick his suspect up.

"God, I love you, Sherlock." The words hung in the air between them but John was too busy trying to catch his breath to notice.

Sherlock glanced up from his phone and sent his best friend a bright smile. "Yes, John."

It was only after Lestrade had arrested the killer and the team had left that John realized what he'd said. He swallowed hard and looked over at Sherlock. How was he going to take this? Sure he hadn't said anything rude or mean when he'd said it but still, maybe he was ignoring it until they were alone. The other man was beaming one of his special smiles, the ones only John saw and then rarely.

Sherlock turned from the departing light of the police cars. "I've always loved you, John."

John grinned.

Falling in love with his best friend was easy, telling said best friend of his love was a nightmare, living with and loving forever the same best friend was both the hardest and easiest thing in the universe.

**A/N: So that's it. Hope you all enjoyed my story. Sherlock's Point of View of these same events starts tomorrow.**


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